Vacay

We're spending this week at my parents in Miami Beach. It's always nice to come home, but let me tell you, packing for a family of four is waaaay different from packing for a family of three. For starters, when we were three, there was always a place for all of us to sleep. Now, we pack a travel trundle for Doodles. Before, I could cram all of Doodles and my stuff into one bag; now it takes two bags. Doodles toys could comfortably fit in my bag with my books. Now an entire bag is necessary for Doodles's toys and snacks as well as all of Sweetie Pie's paraphernalia.

I was quite worried about the flight down. When Doodles was little, we bought him his own half-priced seat on the flights so he could fly in comfort in his car seat. However, buying tickets for three adults (yes, my two-year-old son now pays full-price for his plane tickets) during high season meant that poor Sweetie Pie was stuck on my lap for the whole trip. I didn't know how it was going to work out. And let me say, the flight down was rough. But Sweetie Pie wasn't the problem, if you know what I mean. Mister little full-price-ticket Doodles also no longer needs a car seat on an airplane. You keep a two year old in his seat with his seat belt fastened. Go on. I dare you! Luckily, since I had my hands full with Sweetie Pie, Doodles was Adam's problem. We flew Song, and I lament the fact that they are going out of business it was a stellar flight. For those of you flying with children on your lap, you can play video trivia while bouncing a child on your knee.

Anyway, we're here now and enjoying ourselves immensely. Doodles and Sweetie Pie's great-grandparents threw a Hanukkah party today that was quite lovely. Most of the grand/great grandkids were in town, so it was a large festive affair. Doodles performed, Sweetie Pie beamed. Of course, the minute we took Sweetie Pie away from the party and back into the car, she started to scream. Oh did she scream. A gasping-I-can't-breathe kind of scream that puts panic into any mom's heart. She screamed the entire thirty minute ride back. The only other sound that could be heard in between her gasps were the sounds of... Doodles snoring. Yes, my son can indeed sleep through anything. It was a most impressive feat.

And now we're all tired even though it's ridicuolously early. Sweetie Pie is asleep in bed and I asked Adam to watch her for five minutes while I brushed and flossed. I came back to find my "I don't need that much sleep" husband passed out. He lies here now in his clothing and I don't have the heart to wake him to change. I could tell you more, like about two-year-old present greed (my child actually shook he was so overcome by the present exchange) or my beautiful daughter practically got catcalls when we were walking down Lincoln Road today, but instead, I'll join the rest of my family in their sleep. Good night and happy Hanukkah!

Voulez-vous Blogger avec moi?

Um, my blogger is in French. Is it just me? Some weird glitch? The url is blogger.com still. Luckily I think I could make my way around Blogger in my sleep, so this shouldn't be a problem for us. (Although it just occurred to me that a French spell check isn't going to do me much good and I'm too tired to do a manual spell check, so you'll have to deal with errors today.)

Edited on 12/29: It was Adam, not Blogger. I'm using his laptop and I said, "It's so weird; I went to Blogger last night and it was all in French!" Adam merely said, "Yeah, I know. For some reason my cookies are set to French." Huh?

Two Is Twice as Fun (Not)

My child is advanced for his age. That's the only explanation. Because according to the Gesell book, Your Two-Year-Old: Terrible or Tender (duh! terrible!), the terrible twos don't start until 2 1/2. Doodles is only 2 1/3. But we've hit the terrible part head on. Oh, be still my heart, he must be gifted.

Today, for instance, we had some friends over for a playdate. Everything they touched was not just "No, mine!" but it was bloody murder crying, screaming, "No no no no no!" When J. took the C magnet from the fridge, Doodles chased her hysterically. So she gave him the C and took the W (which apparently is a letter she likes better anyway). But then the W became the letter to be, and the tears streamed down his face as he--gasping--demanded the W. Getting dressed or changing a diaper has become next to impossible. Everything is "self! Do it self!" unless of course we're holding Sweetie Pie, in which case it's "Mommy do it!" He knows he's not allowed to touch Sweetie Pie's bouncy chair, so he pulled that all time famous big brother move of slowly moving his finger closer and closer to the chair until it was about a centimeter away. He looked at me and gave a big grin. If he had known how to say, "I'm not touching it! I'm not touching it!" I'm sure he would have.

Foods that he had been eating he will no longer eat. The one sippy cup that he drank his milk from is no longer the right sippy cup and we need to play a guessing game to figure out which cup is the acceptable cup. He whines. Nonstop. He doesn't want to put on his shoes. He doesn't want to go to the singalong. He doesn't want to say home. He doesn't want to have lunch.

Sigh. But he's still my sweet, wonderful, beautiful Doodles and I know that this will pass. I just wish it would pass a little faster.

Hard Day at the Office

Adam was late, trying to get Doodles to bath so he could get to a class he takes. Doodles was at the refrigerator, playing with his magnetic letters.
Adam: Doodles, come on! It's time for your bath.
Doodles: Daddy! I'm working!
Needless to say with a response like that, Doodles bought himself some more time.

Scream a Little Scream

We'll see how much I get to post tonight. Sweetie Pie has rediscovered the joys of a fussy evening. Right now, she's swaddled next to me in bed, having just sated herself after twenty minutes at my br*east. Every night now, she gets herself completely worked up. Last night she fell asleep in my mei tai after about a half hour of bloody murder screaming, and she was so worked up that she was doing those horrible gasp/breaths in her sleep. She's doing that lovely, sleep for two hours and then fuss until she gets to nurse again. She's incapable of soothing herself to sleep at night. It's a little frustrating--never mind sore--for me.

Oddly enough, though, it really doesn't bother me so much. Oh, it bothers me that my incredible little Sweetie Pie is so miserable. But I know that she'll be past this phase soon enough. I can't believe that she'll be four months old this Sunday. Where did it all go?

Having Sweetie Pie is so surreal. It's still hard for me to believe I have a daughter. I have to remind myself often that I'm the mom of two. She'll look up at me with her huge wondering eyes, as if asking me to explain myself, and I'll just think, "Now where did you come from?"

I could so do three. Screaming or no screaming, I could definitely do three. If only our bank account could do three....

It's a Y Thang Part 2

Every so often I feel the need to remind Doodles that, well, what's his is his. Tonight while he was bathing, I brought it up again in a happy, nonthreatening way.

Me: Doodles, did you know that everyone has private parts?
Doodles: Yeah.
Me: Your p*enis and your tushie are your private parts.
Doodles takes a look down. Yep, there're still there
Me: It's okay for Mommy and Daddy to touch your private parts when we're cleaning you and it's okay during diaper changes, but no one else should touch your private parts except you.
Doodles pauses a moment. Then he responds.
Doodles: Why?
Adam, who has been washing Doodles, looks up at me with a grin.
Adam: Yes, why?
Me: Um, well, um, those are special parts. Special parts just for you!
Doodles: Why?
I think about this a few minutes and can't come up with any reasonable answer.
Me: Um, huh. Um, yeah. Um, why do you think they're special?
Doodles: [playing with his washcloth and splashing water] Rocket ship!

Seems as reasonable an answer as any I could have come up with!

Ethics 101

So tell me, please, why exactly is it unethical for me to spike my son's milk with a touch o' Nyquil? He sleeps, he's happy. He sleeps, I'm happy. What could the harm be?

Daily Plans

And this is an actual conversation I had with Sweetie Pie today:

Me: Whadda ya wanna do today?
Sweetie Pie: Dunno. Whadda you wanna do?
Me: I asked you first.
Sweetie Pie: I dunno. Wanna sing "Wheels on the Bus" again?
Me: Twenty-seven times is my limit. Wanna go for a walk?
Sweetie Pie: We tried that already. Remember that 15 degree wind chill? We made it only once around the block.
Me: Oh yeah. We can sit here and gaze into each other's eyes.
Sweetie Pie: Boring! What did you do with my brother all day?
Me: I haven't the foggiest idea.
Sweetie Pie: Oh, the heck with it. I'll just hang out here on your b*oob all day.
Me: But you did that yesterday! And the day before and the day before and the day before...
Sweetie Pie: You're right. But why mess with a good thing?

Clothing Optional

I'm pretty sure this is the conversation Sweetie Pie had with herself this morning:

Oooo! Nakedness! I loooooove nakedness. I more than love nakedness. I lurve nakedness. Oh, I'd roll around and revel in my nakedness if only I could roll around. Wait, what's that? What is that mommy doing? No, no! No clothing! No clothing! Arg! Why is she cooing that I look so cute in clothes when just minutes ago she was admiring my nakedness? Yuck! Clothing. Hey, I have an idea. Let me give her one of my killer smiles so I know she'll be looking at me and... there we go! The spit dribble. A pretty little spittle of dribble running from my face all the way down the front of my shirt. What is she doing? She wiping it off... with her finger? Ew! Fine, time to turn things up a notch. She didn't like the dribble? How about a full fledged gooey spit-up? Again, keep the smile going and, wait for it, here it comes! Oh that was a good one! The way I purge I definitely have a future as a model or at least an NYU student. Here comes the burp rag. She's wiping me off and... and nothing? What is this woman doing letting me sit around in a spit-up soaked outfit? I bet my brother never sat around in a spit-up soaked outfit. Fine. I'll pull out the big guns. Okay, here I go! Hey mom? Smell that? Can't just dab that up with a burp rag! Yep, I was right; the outfit is coming off! And just to show what a true pro I am, I have one more trick up my sleeve. The outfit is off. The diaper is off. My back has been cleaned. My front has been cleaned. My privates have been cleaned. The mat beneath me has been cleaned. She's going for the new diaper, and aha! She's left the new outfit at the base of the changing table. Okay, think of waterfalls, think of the bath, think of the rain... ahhhh. That felt good. And the new outfit is ruined, too. Take that clothing! I so rule. This mom of mine doesn't stand a chance.

It's a Y Thang

Along with only organic food and no television, I was also never going to be one of those mothers who said, "Because I said so." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Conversation from this past week:

Me: Get your feet off the table.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because we're eating and your feet are dirty.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because you like to walk around. Dirt gets on the bottom of your shoes.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because dirt lives on the ground.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because I said so! Now take your feet off the table.
Doodles: No.